Ninety Percent
by Jasmine2009
Summary: Starsky and Hutch are involved in a deadly game with a beautiful woman after they, along with other officers in the squad room, are taken hostage.


Title: Ninety Percent  
Author: Jasmine  
Rating: PG13  
Universe: S&H  
Challenge: Another challenge to see if I can write a story totally in 1st person POV.  
Summary: Starsky and Hutch are involved in a deadly game with a beautiful woman after they, along with other officers in the squad room, are taken hostage.  
Date: April 10, 2010  
Inspiration: Rihanna's song.

The clock on the wall was loud. It was strange how I'd never noticed that before, but I never had reason to. There'd always been too much noise to pay any attention to the sounds that a mechanical object like a clock made. It was the second hand that offended the senses. Each second ticked away like a heartbeat, methodical and predictable. At least the noise took my mind off my own hands, which hurt; specifically, my wrists ached. They had used my own cuffs to secure my arms behind my back, and they squeezed them too tight, on purpose. I flexed my fingers just trying to force the circulation, and as I did, I thought about how this all began.

Four hours earlier, Starsky and I had arrived to work. Just like any other day, he had picked me up in his newly washed and detailed pride-of-his-life red Torino. The chit chat had been kept to a minimum as we had both been up late closing a case. The morning was filled with phone calls, reports and demands from Dobey to submit expense vouchers. None of that seemed important now. The only saving grace at the moment was that nobody was dead, yet.

The activity and noise in the squad room had picked up as it usually did around lunch time. Detectives were returning to grab a form or make a call before getting a bite to eat, clerks were dropping off files on their way to lunch, and cops were checking the docket for possible court overtime. They couldn't have picked a better time. Sandra Sejas and Clayton Boyd were the modern day version of Bonnie and Clyde. They were mean, confident, and unafraid, which made them particularly dangerous, and they were seated across the room, waiting for some-_one_, or some-_thing_ to happen.

They made their entrance known in a hail of gunfire, blasting plaster off the ceiling and knocking pictures from the wall. The damage was considerable compared to the effort. It took a few seconds to register, but the foregone conclusion was that lunch was going to have to wait, if it ever occurred. Any other day, Starsky would have insisted we leave to eat around 11:30, but not today. For some reason, he let me finish the report I was writing while he read a magazine, routine for the way we did things. For as bright as Starsky is, and there is no better street smart cop out there, he can't write worth a damn, so that job always falls to me. But at the moment, the report was still stuck in my typewriter, waiting for the final sentence.

It took a lot to scare me, but I had to confess, I had been scared; perhaps not so much for my own well-being, but for that of my colleagues, whose hearts weren't what they used to be. Hell, my own damn heart wasn't what it used to be, but at least it had slowed back to normal since their grand entrance. But not my senses. They were on full alert and had been for nearly two hours. But it was because of my encounter with Bonnie that I was still a little shaky. She was the type of girl I'd ask out. She was the type of girl I'd marry. Hell, she was the type of girl I wanted. After I had picked myself up off the floor from the blast of gunfire, our eyes met. There was electricity like I'd never felt before. She ignited a fire in the pit of my belly that had never been lit, much less fueled, with sheer unadulterated carnal desire. I had to look away.

"Are you okay?"

I looked at Starsky, who was seated across from me with his arms pulled behind him, just like I was and every other person in the room; shackled with our own cuffs, uncomfortable and undignified, "Yeah."

"Shutup over there!" Clyde growled. He seemed more nervous than his partner, probably because there was more at stake for him to lose than her. The rap sheet on Clayton Boyd was five pages long if it was a page. He was wanted in three states and if memory serves, at least one charge was murder one. "What are you looking at, Blondie?"

"Nothing." I knew I should have kept my mouth shut the minute he stood up. He was going to approach me, try to goad me into saying something more so he could take the butt of his semi automatic gun to my gut. I was only half right. The impact of his gun to the side of my head dropped me and my chair to the floor.

"Stop it! That's not why we're here, Clayton."

'_Yeah_,' I thought, trying to focus on Dobey's shoes. Being on the floor had its advantages, I just couldn't think of any at the time. I felt a hand grab my arm and yank, wrenching me back up to a seated position.

"Clayton, leave him alone before you do something stupid."

Through blurred vision, I watched the exchange. She had control, thank God. She also had everything a man could possibly want, with the possible exception of sanity.

"Go back and keep a lookout," she said, her voice cajoling. "They're just waiting for us to screw up."

Still trying to focus, I watched Clyde traverse the squad room between cuffed detectives and desks until he was back at the door.

"You should be more careful. We're not the kind of people you want to piss off."

"Sorry."

There it was again. That electricity! I looked away, thankful for the warm liquid making a path down the side of my face, at least it was something to concentrate on. But it was difficult to keep my eyes off her. She pushed the typewriter over and sat on my desk, looking at me. I watched her lift up her knee slowly and place a three inch black stiletto shoe on my leg, and lean back. Her stare made me uncomfortable, or was it her pose. She was just a short distance away, but I could see every curve on her slim frame. Her black jeans were belted at the waist and she wore a black turtleneck, tucked neatly into those skin tight pants. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders and when she leaned forward, her eyes were the color of mine.

"You know," she whispered, "I find you very attractive."

I should have looked away, but she had a way about her that simply froze me. Like a cat stretching, she slid off the desk and on to me, straddling my lap. Taking her sleeve, she gently wiped the blood from my check, and then rested her elbows lightly on my shoulders. I could feel her hands in my hair and her breath on my face. "You know," she began again, "you and I could have a good time together."

"I don't doubt that for a moment."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clyde approaching, but it soon became obvious I didn't have much to worry about. She leveled her gun directly at him and toned, "Clay, I already told you to leave him alone. I'm not going to ask you twice."

"Why don't you get off him and help me keep a lookout? There's lots of movement out there!"

I wondered who would win. It was definitely a standoff, but in the end, she lowered her gun and looked at me, "Sorry, love, but business comes before pleasure."

Her lips were tender against mine and I definitely felt the wrong kinds of stirring.

"I'll be back," she said as she slid off my lap.

I watched her glide towards Clyde and the door. It took a minute to regain my senses, but when I did, both Starsky and Dobey were staring. I lifted my shoulders, '_What could I do?_'

And so the afternoon passed, slowly. The whack across my head had produced a full blown headache, but that didn't stop me from keeping a close eye on Clyde. If there was going to be a mistake, it was going to come from him, besides, every other man in the place was keeping an eye on Bonnie. She walked with cat-like prowess, she fondled her gun erotically, and she kept glancing my way. It was obvious what she wanted, and if she knew what I wanted, it could be the end of my career.

The two kept vigil at the door, talking softly to each other. I listened, but couldn't make out anything. Benson and Richter were the closest and I wondered if they could catch any of the conversation. I caught Benson's eye, and for a moment, I thought he had something. But he held my gaze a little too long, and ticked his head. I moved my eyes to Starsky, the recipient of the tick. We didn't have to speak to communicate, and Dobey's nod confirmed the request. I was everyone's best chance of getting out of this mess. Hostage Situation 101: form an alliance with your captors. It was evident I had already formed something with Bonnie, so I was the obvious choice.

If it was going to work, I'd need a clear picture of my adversaries. Clayton Boyd, or Clyde as I liked to think of him, was of medium build with brown hair, brown eyes, and dark skin. He wasn't nervous, but he wasn't confident either. It was as if he was accustomed to being outside the law, but not in this way. Bank robbing, check forging, and jewelry heists were more his expertise. Holding half a dozen cops hostage was probably wreaking havoc on the lining of his stomach. The thing I couldn't figure is his relationship with Sandra Sejas? Were they married, business associates, or just friends? The real Bonnie and Clyde had been lovers, but these two acted less like lovers and more like… siblings? Was Clyde jealous earlier or just being protective? He wasn't the leader, nor was he the follower. Whatever their relationship, I decided that now was as good a time as any to make a move. I cleared my throat and pushed the pounding headache aside. "Hey."

I caught her attention immediately, unfortunately, she wasn't the one who stood up and walked my way.

"Before you decide to further my concussion, how about telling us what you want?"

I steeled myself for the blow.

"STOP!"

When I sneaked a peek, Clyde was glaring down at me, rifle raised and poised for impact.

"Clayton! A dead cop right now won't do us much good! I'll deal with him."

"Suit yourself, Sandra, but if I don't like the way you're dealing with him, I'm gonna waste him right here and now." He lowered his gun and returned to the door.

She waited until he was across the room before she said, "You really have to be careful around him. I can only control him so far, and then he goes over the edge."

"What about you? How much control does he have over you?"

She looked at Clayton and smiled, "Not as much as he would like." Her eyes penetrated into mine and she added, "Not as much as you have."

"I don't have any control. I'm the one in handcuffs."

I felt her fingers on my shoulders and neck as she circled around me, no doubt sizing me up.

"You don't look like a cop. Are you?"

"What do you think?"

She sat down on my desk, facing me again. Seductively, she lifted her leg and placed her shoe once again on my knee, only this time she let her leg lilt away, allowing my imagination to take over. She knew it too, and laughed. Then she slid off the desk and back into my lap. Her lips were warm against mine and her breath was hot. She pulled away too soon, "You haven't answered me."

"Yes, I'm a cop."

Her hands reached around me and into my pants pocket. She found and removed my identification and read it.

"You're not just a cop… you're a detective. Detective Kenneth Hutchinson?"

I nodded.

"Well, Detective Kenneth Hutchinson, you won't have to do much detective work on this case. I'll tell you why we're here. Clayton has a cousin, Pepsi, who's been sent to prison. The warden has received our demands by now, checked out our threats, determined they're valid, and is now in the process of deciding what to do. If he gives us Pepsi, we take a few of you along to ensure our safe retreat; if not, then we kill everyone here, exit in a hail of gunfire and hope for the best."

"Sounds like you got tired of planning."

She cocked her head and smiled, "I like you. I like that you actually say what you're thinking."

And I liked her, although I couldn't explain it. I liked her laugh, I liked her eyes, her hair, and her smell. I liked her smile and her hands, which moved from my head to my chest. Each touch sent shock waves through my body. It was electricity all over again. She felt it; I felt it. Hell, I think everyone in the room felt it, even psycho Clyde. How do you explain that you have chemistry with a murderer? How do you explain the fact that you don't want to explain it? Getting my mind back to the problem at hand, I whispered, "When do you think you'll be seeing Pepsi?"

She shrugged and leaned closer, "I'm in no hurry." She pressed her lips against mine again and I liked it. I liked everything about it, but I pulled away and turned my head. That was a mistake when I felt her open handed slap across the same side of my face as the rifle butt. "Don't play me for a fool, Detective Kenneth Hutchinson! You may be a cop, but you're also a man, and few men have ever refused me."

I ran my tongue around the inside of my cheek and said, "Hutch."

"What?"

"You can call me Hutch instead of Detective Kenneth Hutchinson. Or Ken, whichever you prefer. I answered your question, so how about you answer mine."

"I don't really know when," she said after a minute's thought, "but we did give them a deadline. You can be assured that we'll know something by this evening. Does that answer your question?"

"One of them. I have another."

"What do you want to know?"

"How much longer are we supposed to wait around here without any food or bathroom breaks?"

She leaned towards my ear and whispered, "I'll take you to the bathroom and offer my assistance, if you want."

"You prepared to do that for all these guys in here?"

"No. But I'll see what I can do."

An hour later, she slid back onto my lap and said, "You see, that wasn't so bad. Everybody used the restroom with nary a glitch."

"You planned that out well, who thought of it? You the brains of this duo, or does he think?"

"Watch it, Ken. You don't want to annoy him any more than he already is. But to answer your question, I thought of it. I thought of the police station too. Cops have partners which made this a perfect place to play our waiting game."

"Clever the way you partnered us up and let us use the bathroom. Would you really have killed someone if his partner didn't return within the two minutes?"

"Probably."

"You seem to be enjoying this."

"I am, more than you'll ever know." She slipped her hands behind my head and moved in for another kiss.

Another slap as I artfully dodged it. Only this time she pushed off my lap and pulled her gun and aimed it at my head.

"Don't get too upset, Bonnie, the truth is, it pains me more than you."

"Hey, Sandra," Clyde yelled, "get over here and watch the door a while. I'm tired."

"Gotta go, love, but I'll be back." She ran her tongue over my lips before she turned away, saying, "And thanks for the compliment."

Clyde glared at me as he made his way into Dobey's office. The Captain's chair was far more comfortable than anything in the squad room so he pulled it from behind the large mahogany desk and pushed it over to the door where he could see both rooms. He plopped down and put his feet up on the door frame, and leaned back. Over Starsky's left shoulder, he was easy to look at while feigning to be looking at my partner. After a few minutes, his head lulled.

Starsky leaned forward and whispered, "You got any ideas?"

I shook my head, "My one idea flew out the window when she held a gun to your head and gave me two minutes."

"Who's this Pepsi fellow?"

Dobey answered, "Last month, Peter Boyd, a.k.a. Pepsi, got sent up for twenty years for bilking investors out of three million dollars. It was a classic pyramid scheme, only he got caught before he could skip town."

"Where's the money?"

Dobey shrugged, "Don't know."

I caught Starskey's grimace and said, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

My partner nodded, "They have to get Pepsi out so he can take them to the money."

Clyde opened his eyes and said, "Shut up!"

I knew that was an invitation for Starsky, who didn't disappoint me, "I hate to spoil a perfectly good plan, pal, but what are the chances of you getting out of here alive?"

Clyde dropped his feet to the floor and smirked, "I'd say they were pretty good."

"I wouldn't. Even if you did, what makes you think Pepsi will take you to the money? I sure as hell wouldn't if I had three million dollars waiting for me."

He stood up and hovered behind my partner, glaring at the back of his head. "I'd watch what I say if I were you."

Now was my chance, "I don't know Clayton. With a partner like Sandra, I'd be worried about more than just Pepsi double crossing me."

He moved fast, too fast, like he had been waiting for a reason. The gun was under my chin and the barrel cold against my skin. His eyes were dilated and for the first time I thought I might have miscalculated.

"Clayton! I told you earlier that I would handle that one!"

"Well, you aren't doing such a good job of it!"

"Leave him alone."

I could see that Clayton was debating, and then his expression suddenly changed. The pressure on my throat eased up. I followed his eyes and caught the tail end of her lowering her gun. The silence said volumes, and it was obvious I'd touched on a nerve. I suspect that having your partner pull her gun and aim it at you not once but twice probably didn't set too well with him.

She soothed, "Clayton, I don't want to fight with you anymore. If you want, I'll take care of him now. I have something special planned."

I looked at her, wondering what she meant by that. When she returned my gaze, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. I wasn't sure which one of them I preferred: psycho Clyde or beautiful Bonnie? At this moment, as I watched her approach me, I definitely preferred Clyde. At least I knew where I stood with him.

Another erotically charged round with her and I wasn't sure how it would end, or where. From across the desk, Starsky was willing me strength and Dobey was scowling at me, but she melted me in ways that I'd never thought about, much less thought possible. When she touched me, it was like the adrenaline shot I'd get bursting through a door without knowing what or who's on the other side. I braced myself for it.

It didn't come immediately; she knew how to play the game. When I couldn't see her is when it came. She started by running her fingers through my hair. Unfortunately, this kind of electricity didn't stop when contact was broken.

"I wish you hadn't mentioned my plans with Pepsi to Clayton," she whispered in my ear. "Now I'm going to have to kill you both."

She slipped into my lap again and kissed me. Being the human male that I was, I didn't do a very good job of hiding my reaction to this, and she smiled, knowing exactly the affect she was having on every man in the room, and in particular, me. With her back now to Clyde, she whispered, "How'd you know?"

"It didn't take much to figure out," I whispered back. "A lady like you doesn't settle for thirds. I'd venture to say that you probably don't settle for half's either."

She grabbed a handful of hair and wrenched my neck back. I found myself staring up at the ceiling and feeling more than a little vulnerable. And that was before I felt the cold metal of a knife being pressed against my jugular.

"You're too smart for your own good," she whispered.

"Is this what you had in mind?"

"Not exactly. Slitting your throat is too easy, and I don't get as much enjoyment out of doing it as you might think. But there is something I've done a few times that's incredibly exhilarating; a friend taught it to me…, God rest his soul."

"Does it have anything to do with sex?"

"Are you always this cavalier? You're going to die, you know." She took the knife away and pressed her lips to mine. Her kisses were intoxicating. This time, it was she who broke it off, standing abruptly and walking behind me, still caressing my neck and running her hands through my hair. "But before you die, I have something special planned." She pulled out my .44 Magnum and ran the barrel down my cheek.

"Gentlemen, you're about to witness something spectacular today. Clayton, do you remember the Reverend Jamison?"

Looking past Starsky, I watched Clyde lean forward in his chair. Evidently whatever she had in mind for me pleased him. She sat down again, on my lap and caressed my gun. "I like a man with a big gun," she cooed. "Can you use it?"

"I usually don't miss."

She flicked the barrel open and allowed the bullets to fall to the floor, pinging and rolling around as they did. "I'm sure you've heard of this game." She picked up one bullet and held it in front of me. "It's a game of life and death," and she inserted the lone shell into the chamber, clamped it closed, and spun it.

"I've heard of the game, and I've even known of a person or two who've played it."

"So, you know how it's done. I hold the gun to your head and—"

"―Actually," I interrupted her, "you hold the gun to _your_ head, and I hold the gun to _my_ head. Any other way and it's no longer the game you think it is."

"Why do I have to kill you? Why can't you throw your badge away and run off with us. I'll give you half of my share? All you have to do is nod and it's yours."

I might have been tempted under different circumstances, "I'm sure you'd make it exciting. But right now, this game is about all the excitement I can handle. Of course, you have to unlock these cuffs in order for me to play."

She reached into my pocket and pulled out my key.

"I don't have to tell you, Ken, that if you try anything, Clay's going to put a bullet in the back of your partner's head. I'm expendable…, is he?"

I looked around Sandra and sure enough, Clayton had his gun aimed directly at Starsky, and he was smiling like it wasn't going to take much for him to pull the trigger. I shook my head, "No."

The blood rushing to my hands caused them to tingle and my shoulders screamed at the sudden release. I wanted to stand up, but she slid back into my lap. I didn't feel so vulnerable now that my arms were free, but I was still a long way from freedom. I placed my hands on her waist, again feeling the electricity as it coursed through our bodies. She kissed me, forcing her tongue deep inside my mouth. My head began to spin. I wanted her and it didn't matter that half my colleagues were in the same room with us. She had a way about her that made me forget everything and everyone. But the stark reality was, it could never be. That, coupled with the knowledge that my own gun, loaded with just one bullet, was waiting for a victim, prevented me from entertaining anything other than escape.

"Are you ready to play?"

"Is anyone really ever ready to play this game?" I said, maybe stalling for time.

She handed me the Magnum and said, "You get to go first."

The pounding of my heart grew exponentially and I wondered if that's what she was feeling when she deliberately placed her hand on my chest. I spun the barrel and waited for it to stop. I looked into her eyes, which appeared maniacal, and then behind her at Starsky, who was sullen, and past him to Clay, who looked too eager, then a quick glance at Dobey, and back to her. Slowly I turned the gun on myself, touching the nozzle to my temple. One shot and this could all be over. One gentle squeeze of the trigger and all my problems would be gone. And the last person I would ever see would be Sandra Sejas. I decided against drawing the ordeal out; instead, I made up my mind and pulled.

Click.

I think I heard the entire room let out a collective sigh. Then I think my own heart skipped a beat.

"How did that feel?" she cooed. "Didn't you feel alive?"

It took a few seconds for me to gather my voice. "I'd rather feel alive doing something else." Like the kinds of things two healthy adults would engage in behind closed doors.

"It's my turn."

"I was hoping you'd forget about your turn."

"Not a chance."

I watched her spin the barrel until it stopped. Still straddling my lap, she turned the gun on herself. For a split second, I thought she might reconsider, but then she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled.

Click.

The headache that I had managed to suppress was coming back with a vengeance, and my stomach and insides were twisting and wrenching around in knots.

"You're not looking so good, Ken. Don't you like our game?"

"No, I don't. There are a million other things I'd rather be doing with you, and none of them involves a loaded handgun."

I didn't find what I said to be that funny, but nerves had a way of exaggerating things, and she giggled a little too long. "Here," she said, "it's your turn again."

"I'd really prefer a different game."

"But we haven't finished this one."

"That's sort of the problem. Once we finish it, we can't exactly play another one."

"You're too smart, Detective. Unfortunately, this is the only game I want to play right now."

The gun was back in my hand waiting for me to use it. Just feeling the weight of it was enough to get my heart pounding. Even the saliva in my mouth had dried up and my head was ready to explode. I spun the barrel and watched it slow to a stop. Another chance at mortality; another chance at life. Her eyes sparkled. I believe she was genuinely enjoying this.

"Go on!" she encouraged.

"You shouldn't be so eager… and you shouldn't enjoy this so much." Once again, I turned the gun towards my temple. It didn't feel so cold this time. I took a second to look at my partner. He was angry, I could tell. His dark eyes foreboding.

"Don't look at him, Ken. He can't save you if it's your time."

I wondered if she had ever loved anyone. Did she even know what it felt like to have a good friend, one who you'd die for, and who'd die for you?

Click.

The noise startled her. I guess she was half expecting that I'd drag it out longer. She threw her arms around me and exclaimed, "I love the way you play! You have real class!"

Class? I wouldn't call playing a game of Russian Roulette class, but then again, nobody's ever accused me of being too classy. I could feel the sweat drip down the side of my face, at least I think it was sweat. I could barely hand her my gun― I didn't remember it being so heavy.

I watched as she spun the barrel and listened to the clicking slow as it drew to a stop. I couldn't take my eyes of the gun. What had earlier seemed like slow motion now seemed like time had sped up and she was moving very fast. The gun whipped around towards her head.

"Wait!"

She startled at my outburst.

"I think we should mix it up a little."

She looked sufficiently intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"I think we should change the rules."

"How?"

"Well, we can spin for each other. You just spun, so I'll play the game. If I make it to another round, I'll spin for you. Just to make it more exciting."

"I didn't expect this from a cop, but I like it."

The gun was back in my hand and I looked at Starsky.

"Why do you insist on looking at your partner?" she lamented. "It's not like he can do anything for you."

"Maybe not, but I was just thinking how I've always wished he was right handed." I stared directly into his eyes, "The world is designed for right handed people and he can't take advantage of so many things because of it."

"I've told you before that I get along just fine being left-handed." He sounded only slightly confused.

"And I've told you before that being left handed might get you killed." I could tell he was catching on.

"Enough with him," Sandra interrupted, "let's play!"

I gave her a warm pacifying smile and said, "You're right, what does it matter anymore if he moves to the left and gets himself killed?"

"C'mon!"

I looked at my own gun, feeling my heart pounding rapidly inside my chest. From my gun I looked into her blue eyes. She was beautiful and sexy and smart, and I wondered what she going to be thinking in about fifteen seconds. I put the gun to my head and wrapped my arm around her waist. I whispered, "I sense that this is going to be the end for us."

She felt my desire and kissed me, cupping my face as she did. And that's when I turned the gun in Starsky's direction and fired. The bullet landed between his eyes, happening too fast for him to even change his expression. Starsky looked up from the floor in time to see the smoke from Clayton's gun. Only problem was she was between his bullet and me; she jerked in my arms as it ripped through her back.

Her body arched with the impact.

"Sandra!"

Her eyes were distant and unmistakably confused, "Ken?"

"I'm sorry, Sandra. You're gonna be okay—just hang on!"

I knew from her expression she wasn't going to be okay. The color was leaving her face and her eyes were glossing over.

"Hutchinson!" Dobey was barking my name, but I didn't want to hear his voice; I just wanted to focus on her. A strand of hair had fallen into her eyes and I pushed it aside.

She smiled at me, sad-like, then suddenly held her head up and looked me straight in the eye, and whispered, "Let's die together, love…"

I didn't understand at first; but I did a second later. Her knife slid into my side, hot and searing. When I looked down, her fingers were loosely wrapped around the handle, and I couldn't see the blade. Blood began to eat up the fabric like water on a flimsy tissue.

"Oh my God…" But she was already dead, and my world was beginning to spin.

"Hutch!"

The last thing I remember seeing was Sandra's lifeless eyes, and the last thing I remember hearing was my partner's panicked voice.

I spent a week in the hospital and two days at home before I decided I'd had enough and wanted to get back to work. It wasn't going to be easy convincing Dobey, but with Starsky's help, it could be done. Of course, I had to get Starsky's help first.

To my surprise, he wasn't too difficult to convince. He picked me up in his freshly detailed Torino and we rode in relative silence to the precinct. I thought we were lucky to have found a parking space close to the door.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Actually, I was feeling a little melancholy; glad to be back, but not too eager to see everyone.

"How's the side feel?"

"Okay." My wound was healing nicely. The doctors had been amazed that the blade didn't pierce any vital organs, but that was my luck. Some days, things just went my way.

"You like what I did to the car?"

"Huh?"

"I just thought that since you're not making any effort to get out that you finally decided you liked my car."

I could count on him to make me smile. I didn't know what could make me like this Red Tomato, but I noticed the floor boards had been vacuumed and the leather upholstery had been cleaned. "Yeah, it looks good."

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

He was right, as usual. Like the game, I should just get it over with. "Let's go."

We made it to the squad room having to answer only a few questions along the way. Was it just last week that this all happened?

Richter's booming voice assaulted me inside the squad room, "How the hell are ya, Hutch?"

"I'll live."

"We thought you was a goner there for awhile. She gotch ya real good with that blade of hers."

"Yeah, she knew how to use it."

Benson's quieter voice asked, "We weren't sure how to welcome you back, so we thought this would be good."

On my desk was my .44 Magnum wrapped up in a bright yellow bow. I picked it up. The memories of the ordeal flooded my head. I saw her face, smiling, enticing me. I smelt her perfume, inviting me. I felt her soft lips against mine. Why couldn't we have met another time, under much different circumstances?

"Welcome back, Hutchinson," Dobey's gruff voice interrupted my thoughts, "You need anything, you just ask."

"Thanks, Captain. " I was curious about one thing but wasn't sure if I really wanted to know. He sensed my hesitation because he waited patiently by his door. Finally, I just asked, "Where is she?"

"At the morgue."

He was so quick with his answer that I thought I probably hadn't needed to say anything and he would have still answered my question.

"Nobody can find any family yet," he added, his voice soft with compassion.

Figures. She's lying dead across town, hasn't even been buried yet, and I'm still thinking about the way she smiles. Maybe I should look for her relatives.

"Hutchinson?"

I almost didn't hear my name. Her voice was practically inaudible. But I looked up and saw Officer Tina Daley standing next to Starsky. "Yeah?"

"Some of us have a question for you, but we're not sure if we should ask."

"Go ahead, ask it."

"We were wondering how you knew which chamber the bullet was in?"

I pondered the question. I deliberately never let myself think about it because what if I had been wrong? I remember lying in the hospital wondering if it had all been a ruse, or if I really did know where it was. I was going to look anyway, so I might as well let her in on my secret. "Come here."

When she was standing next to me I showed her my gun. "Do you see this nick right here? I got it about three years ago. When Sandra loaded the single round, she picked the chamber that happened to be two away from this nick. After she spun it, as long as I could see where it landed, I felt fairly confident I knew where it was."

She looked amazed, although I didn't find it all too scientific.

"Wow. If you knew, you sure did put on a good act. I would never have guessed it."

"That was the point. I couldn't have her thinking I knew where it was and risk having her change it. But you can believe I _was_ nervous, that part was no act."

Starsky asked, "Back up there a minute, buddy. You said you were 'fairly confident.' You mean there was doubt?"

As I looked up at the people who had gathered around our desks, and their expectant expressions, I couldn't help but add, "Well, Starsky, I was ninety percent sure."

"Ninety percent?"

"Yeah, I mean I couldn't tell exactly where the barrel stopped but I had a good idea."

"Ninety percent! You mean my life is only worth 90% to you! S'pose you had been wrong!"

"But I wasn't."

"S'pose you had been? Then I'd be the one with a bullet in the back of my head!"

"But you weren't…"

Richter and Benson, shaking their heads, strolled off to their desks as did several of the other officers. Dobey watched the exchange with mild interest but seemed more amused by Tina's reaction. She looked on at the exchange until Dobey stated, "It's good to have things back to normal."

~Fini


End file.
